Extrema Remedia
by kerithwyn
Summary: Oracle is accustomed to receiving cries for help. This one's just from a little farther out.


Title: Extrema Remedia

Author: kerithwyn

Prompt: Alternate Lincoln Lee walks into a bar and meets...Oracle!

Fandoms: Fringe, DCU

Word count: 1,282

Rating/Warnings: no warnings needed

Summary: Oracle is accustomed to receiving cries for help. This one's just from a little farther out.

Notes: Written for the Into a Bar challenge. Takes place in my beloved DCU, the one that no longer exists.

* * *

Barbara Gordon watched with interest as the unidentified man climbed the stairs of the Clocktower. He wasn't any of the many delivery guys she knew, and he wasn't wearing any of those businesses' uniforms. She activated her facial recognition scanners and waited for his knock.

It never came. Instead the sensors registered a small, light object being deposited in the customized mail slot. The item was automatically scanned for toxins and other hazardous substances. When it pinged clear, Barbara rolled over to the door and fished it out.

The object proved to be a folded-over piece of paper. The writing inside read: "I need information. I hear you're the lady to provide it." Below that was the name of a bar and grill just around the corner, and a date and time. Tomorrow night, 7 p.m.

The facial rec program beeped and Barbara went to inspect the results. It had determined a 96% match to an FBI agent currently assigned to an office in Connecticut. A quick camera hack showed Agent Lincoln Lee working at his desk, nowhere near Gotham.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Barbara hated puzzles, especially when they involved her identity. This one seemed to have a clear solution. But they'd play on her terms.

The next evening she rolled into the nearly empty bar and grill and took a table facing the door. The blonde waitress brought a carafe of coffee and two cups to the table unasked, then retreated without another word. Well trained, Barbara thought, and smiled.

Precisely at seven a blond man in cargo pants and a leather jacket stepped through the doorway, pausing briefly, before making his way over to her. In person he seemed young, younger than she'd expected. He reminded her vaguely of Dick.

His expression as he approached was a tangle she couldn't decipher. "Hi. Thank you for-"

"Who are you, and how the hell do you know who I am," she snapped.

He came subtly to attention; military of some kind, then. "Captain Lincoln Lee, Fringe Division. The rest is...a little bit complicated."

Barbara watched his face, frowning. Fringe Division was a secretive department operating out of Boston, its tiny staff dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of their world. Oracle kept tabs on them, the same as everyone exploring the hidden life of the universe. There were only four active field operatives and this man was none of them. And the name couldn't be a coincidence.

"If you'll allow me..." he reached toward his jacket pocket, then stopped. "I solemnly swear I mean no harm. Please don't let your watchdogs hurt me."

Her eyes narrowed. "My watchdogs?"

He took a deep breath. "I should have expected the extra eyes. The excessively pretty bartender is Dick Grayson. The blonde teenager snapping her gum and pretending to sweep is Stephanie Brown. The homeless person muttering in the corner booth is...Batman. I didn't spot anyone else, but I'm betting Tim Drake is on the roof."

Barbara didn't react, which was the non-signal for her allies to hold their positions. "Captain Lee" didn't use Bruce's name, though he obviously knew it-fear, or respect? Probably both. And he wouldn't have seen Cassandra lurking just on the other side of the kitchen doors, out of sight.

"You seem to have plenty of information already," she said dryly. "Show me yours."

Captain Lee blinked. "I thought you didn't have- oh." He brought out a handful of documents. "These should explain. My Fringe ID, my Show Me, and a twenty-dollar note."

He slid the documents across the table. Barbara leaned over to examine them. The ID in its jacket looked like an FBI identification card, but clearly read "Fringe Division" and bore a Department of Defense logo that looked like two stylized "F"s facing away from each other. The "Show Me" card was some version of a driver's license or national ID card. (Lee, Lincoln Tyrone. DOB: 10-3-81. GEN: Male. HT: 5'11''. NO: OD6701. EXP: 10-3-2015.) And the cash bore the image of Martin Luther King Jr. instead of Andrew Jackson. They all looked authentic enough to casual examination; in-depth analysis would have to wait.

She looked up at him. "Either you've taken fantasy cosplaying to new levels, or you're from another world."

He grinned, too appealing by far. "Well, it's not the first thing. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're taking this in stride."

Barbara waved for him to take the chair opposite hers. He sat, looking not at all out of place. "Since you seem to know who I am, Captain Lee, it follows that you understand I've had more than a little experience with this kind of thing."

"Yeah. I know you'll want to run whatever tests you need to verify my story." He slumped forward, leaning his elbows on the table and running his hands through his spiky hair. "You have no idea how relieved I am to be in the right place. My God, is that _coffee_ May I?"

She nodded and watched, bemused, as he poured himself a cup and held it to his nose, inhaling its aroma with what looked like bliss. "So you were looking for...me? Us? This world specifically?"

Lincoln put the cup down to look her in the eye. "All of the above. Look, here's the situation in a nutshell: My world is dying. We've exhausted our resources trying to save it and nothing's working. So we've resorted to using some fairly experimental portal technology to cross into other worlds, looking for help. This world..." he let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "I climbed over more than a few of my colleagues for the chance to visit this one. I recognized it because, um." He waved his hand aimlessly, the motion betraying his apprehension. "You're comic book characters."

Barbara eyed him but frankly, she'd heard worse. "So in your world..."

"Comics. Yeah. There's like ten _Batman _titles and there've been a couple of-" he stopped suddenly. "Uh. I suddenly had an uber-nerd moment of not wanting to disrupt your continuity by revealing events that might not've happened here."

She laughed, she couldn't help it, and found herself believing the whole story; the artlessness of his confession couldn't be anything but real. "And you're the best diplomat they had to send? No wonder your world is in trouble."

"It is," Lincoln said somberly. Barbara was slightly sorry for her flippant comment, even if he'd brought it on himself. "But I'm hoping-we're hoping-that your world can offer a solution. Or at least a new stopgap. You've got what looks like science fiction tech to our eyes. This was a desperate gamble, but it's all we've got."

"So you came looking for superheroes to save you," she murmured.

He looked at her, nothing but faith in his eyes. "That's what you do."

Barbara took a long breath and nodded. "We'll need to verify your story, get the details. And I'm not making any promises."

"I understand." Captain Lee tilted his head a little, regarding her. "I didn't expect you to be so..."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What."

"Beautiful." He grinned and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Like your friend there, I have a thing for redheads."

"Ooookay," Dick said from behind their visitor, "I think we've heard enough."

Bruce had already slipped away, probably to yell at his Justice League buddies about the failure of their scanning equipment to detect an unauthorized incursion from another universe. Barbara leaned back to watch appreciatively as Lincoln stood and turned to meet Dick. No matter how the rest of this situation shook out, her eidetic memory would ensure she'd remember the extraordinary view.

* * *

(Latin) _extremis malis extrema remedia,_ or, extreme remedies for extreme ills. More familiarly, "desperate times call for desperate measures."


End file.
